


The One With The Barcaloungers

by TheTimelessChild0



Series: Omovember 2020 [3]
Category: Friends (TV)
Genre: Barcaloungers, Humor, Omovember 2020, Urination, chandler can't catch, omovember 3, season 4, sick/exhausted, the one with the insistent terminology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:41:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27260635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTimelessChild0/pseuds/TheTimelessChild0
Summary: The furniture was lacking one thing
Series: Omovember 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1987816
Kudos: 2





	The One With The Barcaloungers

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: this story does not feature the Barcaloungers; that's just what I'm calling them deal with it
> 
> yes, I know Biden said that during the debate...yes, I added that on purpose
> 
> *obviously he is not actually _flipping them off_

It was an average Sunday. They had chips, soda, Pizza and Matlock on DVR. The duck and chick seemed less indignant at their replacement in the entertainment system. Partially because Joey kept leaving on Great British Bake-off. Which led to a slight argument on a day the dish involved using duck liver and eggs in a peach cobbler.

“Houston, we have a problem” Chandler drawled, tensely.

“Major Tom, this is ground control; what is the nature of your emergency?” Joey joined in.

“There is an imminent leak originating in the...fuel tank,” he improvised.

“What?” 

“I have to pee,” Chandler sighed.

“Why couldn’t you just have said  _ that _ ?” his roommate questioned.

“It’s called  _ committing. _ Bro Code paragraph 1 subsection 7; you lean into a metaphor, you gotta commit!!”

“Whatever,” Joe muttered. Then he felt his own bladder’s comfort decline in the recliner.

“You gotta be kidding me..”

“What?” Bing asked.

“I gotta go too,” he admitted, worried for his continued convenience.

It seemed the pair shared a brain cell, as neither rose from their seats to call dibs. 

_ Both _ , however, did cross their legs...tightly. Very very tightly.

The show continued, until one of the cops got coffee. So they skipped ahead. Then a bad guy ran in a puddle. The arrest ended with the bad guy  _ squirming _ . So did the audience.

“Maybe we should...” Joey relented.

“NO! It’s about the  _ principle _ . We  _ cannot  _ allow our bodies to drag us away from our rest and relaxation. Not when there is a better option,” Chandler insisted.

“Which is...” Tribbiani was holding himself with one hand. 

Chandler looked around the room, observing that their drinks were not only empty, but consumed from bottles...large bottles.

But, they were pitifully out of reach.

* * *

They settled on listening to music, united in their childish stubborn refusal to relinquish control of their reclining lounge chairs. It was after all, not just any chair. It was the La-Z-Boy E-cliner 3000. The Chair of the Year. If it wasn’t for their innate sense of dignity and self-preservation of their reputation, and avoiding any and all forms of utter  _ humiliation _ , they would’ve just  _ let go _ , right then and there.

Thankfully for the thread count, Ross appeared.

“I’m having another symposium. The University decided to host one without all the cameras, since I couldn’t make it to the last one...and I may or may not have convinced them it was because of stage fright,” he explained.

“Hey, before you go, can you do us a small favour?” Chandler requested.

“Sure”

“Hand us those bottles...my back is sore and Chandler can’t reach either,” Joey stated.

“Okay..” Ross the Divorce Force was slightly weirded out, but  _ whatever. _

He’d barely turned around, putting a hand in the kitchen counter, where his wallet was, when he heard zippers.

“What are you  _ doing _ ?” he had to ask.

There was no answer, only the dropping of lids.

Ross picked them up and headed back to the kitchen, to throw them out.

Meanwhile, rustling could be heard.

Geller stopped in the doorway. A spontaneous impulse encouraged him to feign his departure. One hand held the door handle. 2 more hands held penises.

_ Ready....set...go! _

A collective hiss filled the apartment. 

“Are you...PISSING?!” he blurted out, scandalised.

“Trying to! Will you just shut up man? Please!” Joe whined.

“ _ Vai _ a Napoli, eh?” Ross rebutted, *flipping him the bird.

*****************************

Their respective streams ended and Ross handed them the caps, looking at the ceiling and nowhere else.

He rubbed his face.

“What are you still doing here?” Chandler ruminated.

Ross sighed.

“Oh, no reason...just trying to commit it to memory for future blackmail. What do you think, Ms Chanandler  _ Bong _ !  Erasing it, for all our sakes,” he cringed.

“Then, you might wanna wipe the next 30 seconds,” Joe mentioned, awkwardly.

“Still haven’t washed our hands,” Bing elaborated.

Ross made the same sound as he did at the Doctor before his epinephrine injection.

He tossed a bottle of hand sanitizer to Chandler gently and indifferently.

“Why does _he_ get it first?” Tribbiani protested, feeling cheated.

“ _ You _ know how to catch it,”

Chandler resented this and huffed in indignation, arguing firmly against the prejudice. Subsequently, in the midst of his attempt at throwing it to Joe, he proceeded to promptly pummel his own procreative organs. 

The End.


End file.
